Category: Journal

I don’t know how to explain it or how to describe it. I know I’m not losing my mind, yet sometimes everything seems like it. I know I’m not asking for too much while seeing myself act like it. I know when things shift and change, yet act as if everything is fine while watching it all burn down. 

It’s a silly game that I keep playing with myself, my time, my energy. People say that meeting others is meeting the reflection of yourself. I see that here and now, and I understand a bit more. It sucks. It truly hurts to see it and empathize, yet resent it. I felt like this last year around this time, and the reality has not changed for the better. I’ve spiraled as things have gotten worse. I care way too much about things or people that won’t be here next year, that are selling a nonexistent dream. The reflection is making me question if I’m truly doing the same thing that I despise. Most of the time, I am. It takes tangible experiences to notice, or for it to really make a difference. I’m not sure what that will look like this time going forward. I don’t know if I’m holding on to the idea that the comfort will be the same safe haven, or a suitable, piss poor excuse for not doing anything with myself. 

Seeking validation and comfort does nothing but fuel this fuck ass loop. Same goes for hiding behind people, same for expecting others to make their decisions without my input or guidance. The act of thinking on the behalf of others has gotten increasingly difficult because I find myself annoyed as a result. Not my proudest affliction to admit. Alongside this are the growing sensations that come from my discomfort or annoyance, leading to me reacting in ways that are essentially hurtful. In those moments, there’s the applause for calling things out. In other moments, there’s the disdain prodding at me. 

I don’t know what any of this is about anymore. I’m in a different place and I know where certain things will go. Is it a matter of applying wisdom to said situations, or is it more so ego? Why does it matter when I’m no better than anyone else? These are things I’m struggling with. I feel as if having the firsthand experience allows for me to be qualified to speak on certain things. Instead, I’m labeled as a self righteous know-it-all. 

: concerned with the individual rather than society; taking the ego as the starting point in philosophy

There is the question of why I am not who I was—why I do not write the same, or why people have not met the previous versions of me in present day. The fact of the matter is that I changed. Those moments are reflections of that time, and even still those are not entirely accurate. It all became a curation of what was versus what it was intended to be, leading to me losing sight along the way. I tried to hold on to the versions of myself that I thought would be better suited for those around me, only to find out that it wasn’t about anyone else in the first place. The stories I told myself and chose to live by only made things worse. Hilarity. 

By clinging on to what made me “me”, I deviated from what was idealized for the path I have chosen for myself. In turn, it has also reflected in character shifts that have been detrimental to my progression. Instead of being vocal and full of life outwardly, I cowered and suppressed myself into a shell. That shell has been full of contradictions, self inflicted tendencies, and burned bridges. Some would say this was necessary. The story I have clung to is no longer mine and more-so of a mask to maintain the status quo. 

What does any of this mean?

I found myself saying I am sick of my own shit over the years, but not sick enough to begin again with compassion. Any half hearted attempts would be met with thoughts that funneled into the spiral of self induced hell. Doing and saying things for what? To be resentful, miserable, hoping that things would be reciprocated. To not be alone and included, all to ultimately ostracize myself. None of it made any sense, yet it was real enough for me to be chained to. With so many messy situations and circumstances, it was best for me to shut the hell up out of not being qualified to speak. 

What a shitty way to live. What have we learned?

I thrive with communication in the safety of this space. The neglect of not only this, but myself, has been a pain in the ass. Cussing people out for playing with me may not be the best way to handle things of course—unless driven to that point of no return. Death comes in rapid succession: physically, metaphorically, sonically, emotionally, the list goes on. The act of falling and burning to rise again has been something that seemed like self aggrandizement. Hell actually has a basement, a bunker, and some trampolines if you really want to get into it. It felt like a good time for a long time at the cost of everything, because I hated myself. It showed through neglect.

It has been amazing to have experiences and opportunities that have helped cultivate the space I am in currently. Truthfully it is far from comfortable, yet I have found a way to bob and weave in the midst of things. I have found ways to sit down and truly think about what I am writing, the purpose it serves, and why I want to even put it in this format. 

How does all this lead to ego(centric)?

This is a new age for myself. I would not classify it as a revival, due to the many funerals I have extended to myself thus far. This is intended to be vaguely personal, a series of thoughts, feelings, and intentions dispersed however I see fit.

Life has been feeling like my chest cracking open. It is scary and it is painful—it hurts a lot. 

There are things coming up that I hide away from myself, or people I care about. Wearing a mask all the time with no way to take it off, because any chance of that results in slipping. It goes back to darker habits or shameful behaviors. 

I took chocolate shrooms. They tasted like chalk. Kinda made my ass itch. Smoked a little, started panicking, then started walking with her.

There are smells of reminders and capsules of time that overflow out of nowhere. Circumstances now come at a full circle. 

It is all scary. I do not know where to go from here, because everything reminds me of childhood being gone, and the little things that made me feel happy and safe. 

I have lost so many people, and it is heartbreaking sometimes. Between death, or misunderstandings, or flat out not being the best entirely…

I am tired of feeling like I have to keep things together while there is so many moments of falling apart alone. I do not want to bother people as I have a hard time asking for help. I am not quite sure what to ask for. 

It feels like I’m grieving myself and existence up to this point. Being in this garden makes me really happy while also incredibly sad because I miss being a little kid outside, and acting like a fairy. Just being myself. 

Little Michaela would have loved it.